Café de Délices
by mutietootie
Summary: "Look, Raphael," he said. "You're a good boy. Charlotte and I both agree on that. The question is, why?" *Multi-chapter fic*Updates whenever* why isnt vergier in the character tag you sillies
1. Chapter Un

Chapter Un

It was a warm Sunday, the Parisian breeze carrying wafting scents of freshly cut grass and baking breads for the masses. A young man sat on his tiny apartment's window ledge, enjoying the morn, the wind shifting his hair ever so slightly, while Paris slowly awakened on its resting day. He watched the citizens leisurely stroll across the streets below and waved a hello to those who looked his way. They waved back, as the boy noted who was walking across the streets this morning. There was an artist, shedding supplies while he ran to catch the early morning sky, two twins who cheered at him with gusto, (to which he waved back of course) and a darling old woman who playfully glared at him to shout ,

"Raphael, get down from there! You could hurt yourself!"

"Sorry Paula!" would be his reply each and every day, to which she would yell back,

"…and get out of your pajamas, lazy boy!"

His trusty mutt was still asleep, since last night's heist ran rather late, and dear Fondue was nice enough to tug off his suit and hat while he remained collapsed in the doorway. (His neck still has pains to ring it true.) Deciding that his caretaker deserved an awakening with breakfast, he slid off his perch and headed into the kitchen. He leafed around the refrigerator for ingredients. Eggs, bacon, and… milk? (He took a sniff. Nope, not milk. Slime would be a better name for it.)

Just as the eggs were finishing their time in the pan, he heard the mail flap shutter and a light _fwump_ hitting the tiled floor of the entrance to his home. It was odd, mail never came on Sundays. Could it be? A hand delivered note from his father? He held hold of his optimism until the burner was off, and then skidded his way to the door.

Much to his disappointment, it was not. It was just an envelope with his name quickly scripted on in drippy ink. There was no stamp or return address, which meant it had to have been put there by the writer or one of their associates. It wasn't in his father's style to put such little effort into things such as letters. A perfectionist he was, just like his son. He picked apart the wax seal as carefully as he could, (he was a collector, a habit from when he was young) to unfold the letter inside. He read

"Raphael,

I wish to have a discussion with you. How about over coffee and cake at the Café de Délices today? Half past 10 sound good? See you there.

A fan"

It was hastily scribbled down and it was obvious that little thought went into devising it. It was horribly awkward. It was probably devised by another "ingenious" individual who thought he was the illustrious Phantom R, to, of course, they were right about, but he would never let someone get away with such a secret as that, even if it meant lying to their faces. Even so, he wanted to go anyway, he liked the attention. He sauntered back to where breakfast was sitting, on the way nudging Fondue to awaken him for his meal.

Just as the last piece of bacon was fought over and snatched up by a doggy snout, Raphael realized the time. Ten fifteen. The café was half an hour away on foot. Shit. He shuffled into his battered sneakers and, with a bid _adieu_ to Fondue of course, fled his building and dashed his way through the throng of people making their way to the markets.

He (miraculously) arrived only 5 minutes late to his destination. A quick glance over the outdoor tables held no profit onto who his said "fan" was, so he had no choice but to take a parasol-shaded table for two near the corner to wait. As time sluggishly made its way past, Raphael's mind began to wander. It was a rather nice café, wasn't it? The carefully-chosen coloring made everything feel warm and inviting, and the food looked cute and well made. The closeness to the constable headquarters made this place a safe point in the case of robberies, which he felt comforted by. He just might come back here in his spare time with his partner, maybe to split a croissant or two. He was so lost in thought he never noticed who pulled the chair across from him out and set down two sets of coffee and shortcake.


	2. Chapter Deux

Chapter Deux

When he finally pulled back from his dazed state, he almost leapt in fear of who was sitting across from him. Tanned skin, overly long stubble, the disgruntled mask permanently etched into his face, no doubt about it. Vergier. The accused slid his eyes over to face him, and after a moment of silence, he snapped his fingers in front of his glasses.

"Oi… Oi! Hello? Earth to dreamer boy?" He sneered, eyes suddenly hardening when he acknowledged that his opponent was aware of him. "It's nice to have you back with us today, monsieur. Care to eat what is in front of you? Or did I waste my money on a moron who cannot even lift a fork?"

He struggled to get his thoughts in order, before picking up the aforementioned silverware and snapping up a piece of shortcake. It was probably very delicious, but his tongue tasted too much like fear to tell. He then gathered up all his remaining strength and greeted the other man. "Hello, my name is Raphael-"

"I know that. How else do you think I got the invite to you? Guessing? Flipping a coin? Choosing the stupidest apartment and shoving the memo through _their _mailbox? Believe me, the latter is pretty close to what I would have done, had I not known, and I still would have gotten it right."

"Well, um, why am I here exactly?"

"Take a wild guess, I've got time."

Raphael thought for a bit. "You think I have the hots for your daughter?"

"Nah."

"You…r'e lonely?"

"Hah-ha. No."

"You think I'm cute?"

"…That is absolutely disgusting. I am contemplating leaving just for that comment."

He sheepishly smiled, "Worth a try…Well, why did you call me here, then?"

"Come on, a success such as you should be able to solve such a puzzle. You had no problem with the other one I had set up."

No. He couldn't be. He could not be implying-

Vergier sighed, "Look, I've narrowed it down. Your hair, your face, your dog, your act all together. You are Phantom R, the Rhythm Thief, non? Actually, don't even try to deny it, it's you. I am positive."

A cold sweat ran down the boy's neck. Oh god, he was going to be arrested, sent to rot in prison, given the death sentence, what will happen to Fondue he can't just be left there by himself oh dear god.

When he looked up, Vergier rolled his eyes. "Relax, Phantom R. I'm off duty today. I could care less if Jacques Mesrine popped up right in front of me this very second, not that this is any different."

"But," R questioned, "If not to arrest me, why call me here?"

"Look, Raphael," he said. "You're a good boy. Charlotte and I both agree on that. The question is, why? Why would you turn to this life of crime? Why would you repeatedly run away and get into more trouble? What drives you to do so?" The inspector stared at Raphael intently, refusing to let go until he got his answers. "This is just to satisfy my own human curiosity, none of this will go into record, and I swear it." He added on, trying to dilute the tension floating over cold coffee and half-eaten cakes.

Raphael's fear did not lessen, but there were questions to be answered. He cleared his throat. "I'm looking for my father, that is the main reason."

"Feh, what is this, one of Charlotte's novels?"

"I'm serious"

He glared, "I know."

There was a silence, broken by a quiet mumble on the boy's part. "He was the one who stole everything and replaced them with forgeries y'know… I only take what will help me find him."

Vergier slammed his hand on the table before looking up, flabbergasted, "Wait,wait, wait, backpedal for a second there; you are telling me that those paintings, in the _Louvre, _are all _fakes?!"_

"Well not the recent additions but-"

"This is unbelievable,_ how could I have missed them?!"_

"You're causing people to stare Inspec-"

"_Why?! Why would someone do this?!"_

"_**For me, dammit!" **_

The café chatter halted, and all eyes were on him. The Inspector's mouth was agape, brow twisted, eyes focused.

"What do you mean by that?" He asked slowly, as he was carefully avoiding another explosion.

Raphael fell back into his chair, and waited for the chatter to continue before whispering. "I was very sick, you know, and I will leave it at that."

"Wh-? No, wait! Raphael!"

And on that note, Phantom R was stiffly walking down the street back to his apartment, eyes red, and hoping the inspector following close behind would lose his way.


End file.
